


Care

by Kazimir



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Caring, F/M, False Accusations, Implied/Referenced Torture, Moral Dilemmas, Sleepy Cuddles, Threats of Rape/Non-Con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-11
Updated: 2016-01-11
Packaged: 2018-05-13 07:20:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5699854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kazimir/pseuds/Kazimir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A young Major Ocelot warms up to a wrongly suspected spy during his service in the cold-war era USSR.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Care

**Author's Note:**

> This was meant to a be a bit of a practice for capturing Ocelot's personality (er, his personality when he was young, at least.), since it feels like it's harder than it should be. Any input is well appreciated.
> 
> I didn't expect it to end up nearly this long ._.

   You awoke to bright grey eyes. You felt a rush of fear, thinking it to be the large man seemingly known as "Colonel Volgin" back to try to extract information that you didn't have. At the realization of the fact that this was a different man, much closer to your age, no older than 18 or 19, you felt yourself relax slightly. He wordlessly reached down to you wrists, which were cuffed behind your back and attached by a chain no longer than a few feet to the wall of the bland, concrete room. He put a key into the cuffs and they clicked open quietly. You couldn't help but notice his gloved hands shaking slightly, despite his resting bitch face.  
  
   "What are you doing?" His eyes seemed soft to you, but you were deathly afraid that he was simply bringing you to a new room for Volgin, and if that was the case you didn't want to bother getting your hopes up about anything. Instead of replying he simply pulled you to your feet. Your legs faltered, and if not for him holding you you would have fallen. This embarrassed you, for some reason. He grunted, annoyed, and tried to pick you up. Beaten as you were, it seemed your pride was still in one piece, and you pulled away. You wrapped your arms around one of his and leaned yourself against him, waiting for him to walk forward, and hoping that you'd be able to follow. Oddly enough, he seemed rather impressed by your actions, and seemed to take care to walk at an appropriate pace. You grew to like the young man more and more, even though he still hadn't responded to you. You came to believe that he was simply nervous, an odd thought about a Soviet soldier, but realistic due to his youth, soft eyes and shaky hands.  
  
   After a while of slowly walking through the halls of the large building you had been brought to and beaten senseless in no more than a week ago, you felt it necessary to ask again:  
  
   "What are you doing?" You were worried he would remain silent, but he seemed to have gathered himself a little bit.  
  
   " _I_ " he began. It sounded to you like he was attempting to sound overly confident or pompous, but some sort of nervousness prevented it. "Am Major Ocelot. And I've been given direct order to transport the prisoner, _you_ , to a new location for..." He hesitated and grew pale, his voice becoming quieter and even more apprehensive than it was before. It made you uncomfortable. "For different techniques in, uh, information extraction." The last two words seemed to disgust him. Before you could ask more questions you came upon a door and stopped in front of it. He pulled a key out of his pocket with the arm that you weren't using for support and took a few attempts to slide it into the keyhole. His hands were shaking even more than before, which gave you mixed feelings. On one hand, this Ocelot was clearly not nearly as tough as Volgin, so you imagined, if he was the one preforming the 'information extraction' at least, that you probably wouldn't end up beaten half to death. On the other hand, the fact that he was so nervous worried you greatly. Whatever was going to happen, you supposed, you'd find out soon anyway.  
  
To say you were confused when you entered the room would be an understatement. And what was probably going to happen didn't click until he sat you on the bed and walked to the other side of, presumably his, small bedroom. He turned to look at you before quickly turning back towards the door while he removed his jacket. You watched in horrified silence as he laid it gently on the floor and placed his scarf and beret on top it it messily.  
  
Before long Ocelot had removed all but his black pants. He never once looked back at you, and with every piece of clothing you could see him getting more and more tense. Once his erratic hands reached his belt you heard a loud shaky sigh. He peeked back at you from behind his bare shoulder.  
  
"I **can't**." He whispered, clearly to himself. He put his face in his hands and spoke again, voice still trembling. "I have to... Why can't I do this? Oh god."  
  
"Do what?" You asked. You knew what. Ocelot surprised you when he turned sharply and walked towards you, clearly angry. He seemed to lose his nerve when he got closer though, simply opting to sit beside you on the bed with his head in his hands. You waited through a moment of silence before deciding how to proceed. You gently placed your hand on the young man's back. You felt his muscles stiffen but, unlike you expected him to, he didn't lash out again. You rubbed him gently for a few moments before hearing him speak again.  
  
"It's ridiculous, isn't it?" He was finally looking you in the eye now, and although his bright eyes were glossy, he had at least been able to hold back from actually crying. " _You're_ the one that should be afraid right now." You were. Terrified, in fact, but you thought it would be a bad time to say such a thing, and looked away as you continue to try to soothe him silently. Finally, he seemed to have collected himself, and he stood up. He paced for a moment before settling in front of you. "Why are you even here?" He asked. He looked you up and down. "You're no spy." That much was true. You decided it a good a time as any to actually begin to converse with Ocelot. You told him the story, in the shortest way you could think of, of being a bored teenager, curious about the conflict between the Soviet Union and the United States. One day you had gotten the bright idea of sneaking out of your home country and into the Soviet Union, hoping to see something exciting, and learn more than you could out of newspaper articles. Unfortunately, you learned, sneaking into a country during a intelligence-based war wasn't exactly looked highly upon, and you immediately found yourself being considered a spy. You realized, for the 100th time since you had left your home country, how stupid you had been as you recounted the story to Ocelot. Surprisingly though, with every word attesting to the fact that you weren't even an enemy spy or soldier, Ocelot seemed to become more distressed.  
  
"...Which leaves me here." You ended your recount.  
  
"Which leaves both of us here." He corrected. After looking at you closely for another moment he turned swiftly, walked to his clothes, and dressed himself. "I'll get you something." You opened and shut his door roughly, and before you knew it, you were alone in the room. You no longer felt very scared, but you made the choice to stay in the same spot. It wasn't a good time to be taking risks.  
  
Before long Ocelot was back, holding 2 cans and a small white sac. He shut the door behind him and set the cans on a small metal table beside the head of the bed, and returned to his place of standing in front of you.  
  
"Take you shirt off." He didn't really seem nervous anymore, and his tone was haughty. You hesitated, thinking he had changed his mind about disobeying the orders given to him before, but relaxed when you saw him pulling medical supplies out of the white sac. You removed your shirt, rather upset about the immodesty, but grateful to have the burns, cuts and bruises inflicted by Volgin tended to. Ocelot made a point to look away as he knelt and, red faced, mumbled for you to give him your wrists, which were cuts deeply into multiple times during the struggling in the first room. He looked at the wounds with disgust before properly treating and bandaging them. He the proceeded to do the same, albeit rather awkwardly, with the rest of the treatable wounds on your back, stomach, arms, face, and chest. You wanted to thank him, and considered that a physical expression is usually more touching and sincere than a verbal one, so you leaned down and hugged the kneeling man tightly. You felt his surprise, and he pulled away quickly. He threw your shirt back at you.  
  
You clothed yourself quickly and after pacing a tad more he turned in your direction in a snap and pointed at you loosely.  
  
"When did you last eat?" You thought for a moment, and before you knew it you felt a week of forgotten hunger topple down on you.  
  
"Not since I got here." You recollected, gently rubbing your painfully empty stomach. Ocelot nodded, probably expecting as much, and strode quickly to the cans on the table. With a proper maneuver of his knife he popped one open and walked toward you. You could identify the smell as your favourite fruit, and for the first time in a week you actually felt at least somewhat excited about something. As he stood over you he stabbed a piece of fruit with his knife and pulled it out of the can, holding it affront your face. Instead of taking his apparent offer, considering being hand fed canned fruit from a Soviet Soldier's knife a tad unusual even after all you had been through, you grabbed the knife out of his hand and ate by yourself. He seemed awkward for a second, until giving you the can and grabbing the second and settling beside you. You ate quickly, feeling his eyes on you for most of the short time. You soon crossed your legs and resettled comfortably, still avoiding the young man's eyes. He grabbed the knife out of your hand quickly and repeated his past action.  
  
"You seem to need it more than I do." You looked into his eyes once again, and smiled to yourself at the faux-over-confidence covering the soft look. You grabbed his hand and turned the knife back towards him. Although he was probably right about you needing it more, but you weren't about to seem selfish to someone who had effectively saved you. Besides, you weren't sure when he had last eaten, or what kind if energy he expended throughout the day. He looked you over stiffly before eating off of the knife you held. How cute. He avoided eye contact, took the knife and can, and finished the food happily. He seemed slightly embarrassed by his eagerness, but you both got over it. Not long after that you payed little mind as Ocelot stripped down to his undershirt and pants, seeming like he was about to remove the latter, but hesitating.  
  
"He'll ask me about you in the morning." It took you a moment to remember the situation you were in, and that he was speaking about Colonel Volgin. Ocelot was meant to extract information from you through a vile and degrading methods, and instead he had ended up taking care of you. You only realized that, although you couldn't tell from being in the room for so long, it seemed to be nighttime.  
  
"I'll think of something." You replied simply. He seemed like he wanted to argue, but would rather rest. "Those pants don't look very comfortable to sleep in." You remarked. You didn't quite realize what you had said until after you did, it was more of a little automatic conversation piece made out of a random thing that you had observed. He faced away from you again, his face seeming to redden a bit as he silently began to undo his belt. You felt slightly bad about indirectly mentioning his hesitance to undress, although seeing him somewhat vulnerable and human was quite nice.  
  
" _Alright._ " He said in his pompous voice, now in his undershirt and boxers. "It's only fair that you make it even now." You happily informed him that your pants were, in fact, very comfortable. He crossed his arms. You sighed and slipped off your shirt. You knew that he was probably doing it more to not seem more vulnerable than you did, rather than for any sexual reason, and it made you just slightly less uncomfortable. You gestured at his shirt playfully.  
  
"As long as we're playing chicken." He actually seemed to like this. He slipped off his undershirt in some sort of showcase of his courage and gave you a cocky grin. You debated for a moment. Pride and winning seemed to win favour from Ocelot, so you swallowed any embarrassment and made a move that would ensure your victory. You removed the underclothes from the top half of your body and also crossed your arms. His face immediately turned deep red and you knew you had won. You calmly crawled under the covers, feeling a rush of relief from the simple comfort you haven't felt since leaving your home country. Ocelot hesitated, clearly sheepish from the state that your little game had left you both. "Come on." You urged softly. You felt a spark of a bond growing between Ocelot and yourself, and began to genuinely care about him a bit. Being so young and in such a position probably left him stressed, so you thought sone rest could do him well. Good rest, too.  
  
Finally, he shyly climbed under the covers beside you, and you pulled him into a hug, not letting him pull away again. He scoffed angrily, but eventually you could feel him relax in your arms. You rubbed his soft skin  softly, and could tell my his slow, deep breathing that he was soon sound asleep. Not long after, due to the relief, warmth, and comfort, you felt yourself comfortably dozing off as well. You affectionately squeezed Ocelot one more time before falling into a deep slumber.


End file.
